


Run Away With Me (The Things We Don’t Say When We Speak)

by navaan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: They aren't friends anymore. So why is he sitting here in a bar, waiting for Steve to turn up?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [magicasen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen) for the beta! I rewrote a bit, so all remaining mistakes are obviously mine.
> 
> Written for the “canon compliant” square on my [Stony Bingo Card](http://navaan.dreamwidth.org/548911.html).
> 
> You can also read this story and comment on it on Livejournal [here](http://navaan.livejournal.com/311351.html). Feel free to friend or contact me there.

He lets his fingernails click against the glass. It’s iced and the temperature against his fingers is enough of a distraction to keep him from just jumping up and leaving right here and now.

This is a bad idea.

It’s always been a bad idea.

He has known this from the start.

Of course, now he’s here anyway, so he might as well see it through.

The smell of the bourbon is strong and he wants nothing more than to knock it back like it’s water and ask for another shot. And then another.

But doing this drunk is possibly an even worse idea than doing this sober.

Possibly. 

He pulls the baseball cap deeper over his eyes and glares into the glass. 

“You’re not going to drink that,” someone says as they slip onto the stool beside him - equally garish flanell shirt, equally pulled down baseball cap and a pair of slightly tinted sunglasses obscuring the eyes. They could be twins like this if it weren’t for the height. He only catches a glimpse of Steve’s blue eyes as he leans down and then the only thing he sees are the frown lines on his forehead. 

_Great_ , he thinks. _We’re off to a good start. It took him all of a second to make you feel like shit._

Reacting to the tone more than his inner need for flagellation, he downs the drink with one long gulp and sets the empty glass down. It’s not the good stuff, but that suits the mood. The acidic taste, the burning in his throat, the sudden warmth pooling hot in his belly - it all makes this easier.

“Have you come to scold me, mother? You’re late,” he says past the knot in his throat and motions to the barkeeper to give him another, before sliding an old-fashioned manila folder along the bar towards the person he’d been waiting for. _Don’t let him see how glad you are to see him. You’re not. Tony, you’re not,_ he thinks. 

The rundown bar was Steve’s choice, and Tony doesn’t think that he has any right to frown like that, staring at Tony like he’s drunk already, before he even looks down at the papers.

Steve quickly flips through the whole thing. It’s data on Ross and what he’s been up to. There are plans in there that give Tony nightmares. Wanda has moved up to a priority target. Because she’s dangerous. Because her powers were engineered. Because she can be reverse engineered. Tony knows Steve is on that list too. The army has only been waiting for an excuse to make him a guinea pig in an attempt to make more like him. Ones that are easier to control.

Tony reaches for the newly filled glass. He needs to calm his nerves, needs to numb all the voices inside of himself that tell him to not be here, because either Steve betrayed him or all of this is his own fault, because otherwise how would any of this have happened?

Steve’s hand gets there first. He grabs the glass right out of Tony’s loose grip and downs it in the exact same uncaring way that Tony had, then slams it down in front of him, empty, his eyes narrowed, expecting… an argument, Tony guesses. 

Tony just gives the glass a long, regretful look and then smirks at Steve, trying for infuriating “At least that wasn’t the good stuff. Would have been wasted on someone who can’t feel the buzz. Not a good idea to be drunk on the run, anyway.”

It shouldn’t be possible, but Steve’s eyes narrow further.

Then he swallows and his perfectly chiseled Captain America jaw tightens, then relaxes. He’s not looking at him, but at the glass. Tony has seen this look before, and it’s always been when Steve disagreed and was trying to find a way to make him see his point. 

“Thank you, Tony,” he says. “I really… appreciate…” He stops. He licks his lips and pushes the glass away to the edge of the counter. Tony still really wants that drink. “Thank you, Tony. Thank you for picking up that phone.”

He sounds sincere and that’s too much. More than Tony can take.

“Don’t thank me. Don’t you _dare_ ,” he says and thinks about Rhodey who is battling his way through physical therapy and slow progress every day, and he’s not, _very much not_ thinking about the final sound his mother made when she was shot. Tony has no right to feel warm and happy that Steve is thanking him. “Go, be a hero. Someone has to.”

He wants to jump up and leave, but he feels rooted to the spot under Steve’s heavy gaze.

Steve has turned to him with that calm face that makes Tony want to punch him with as much strength as he can muster right now. It would be easier if Steve sometimes gave in to his base impulses and stopped pretending that he only gets angry when the world gives him a reason to. Tony knows he can penetrate that shell of judgmental superiority, of perfectly reasonable morale. He has done it a handful of times before and wore the bruises for the world to see after their public falling out. Those are gone, but he remembers how they felt.

He has the option to actually try and throw a punch at Steve’s perfect teeth and his stupidly attractive face, but with how things are, he’ll probably bruise his knuckles for nothing. And he doesn’t really want to punch him. Steve’ll expect it from him and not be rattled at all. Tony wants him to be rattled. Because that’s been Tony’s life since all of this happened. Since before, to be honest. Long before.

Making a decision, he grabs the empty glass and waves it in the direction of the barkeeper. It will be much easier to watch Steve leave from the corners of his eyes, when he has something else to focus on.

Of course, that is the moment that Steve decides to deviate from the norm.

He reaches out and grabs Tony’s free hand. Tony doesn’t pull free, has a hard time deciding what is making his heart race so much - surprise or anger - and is thankful for the quickness of the barkeeper, as he watches amber liquid pour into the glass as soon as he puts it down. Steve doesn’t say anything until the man has moved away again, watching the two of them suspiciously.

He should have thrown that punch. They are not exactly doing a good job of keeping a low profile anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered. And he would have momentarily felt better and by the time he’d feel stupid and guilty and terrible, Steve would have been long gone. Then at least he could have told himself there is a reason why Steve is going to walk out of here, head held high, and he’d be the one who has to go back thinking about what he could have done to make things be different.

Instead, Steve is not letting go of his hand.

“I’m grateful you picked up the phone when you did. Now, watch your back. Ross will come after you if he thinks he has anything he can use.”

Steve has the gall to sound concerned and it makes Tony’s hackles rise. “I know, I know. Nobody left to get me out if I end up in the Raft .”

“I’d get you,” Steve says. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” _We’re not friends,_ he doesn’t say. _Not anymore. Because how could someone like you ever really be friends with me?_

Steve squeezes his hand and Tony stares at where Steve’s fingers are touching his, waits for the inevitable moment of letting go and steels himself. 

“Thanks for calling. Take care of yourself.” The hand pulls away and Steve gets up. A warm hand settles at his shoulder, pats it, like they are indeed just friends meeting at a bar. “You know where to find me.”

He doesn’t really, but he knows Steve means the phone and not the places he uses to hide out with the rest of the runaways. 

“You don’t want to drink that,” is his final parting shot, before he scampers out of the bar. Tony is left sitting there alone wondering if Steve has ever been there or if his guilty conscious is just taking on a very distinctive voice. 

The bourbon is still sitting there and he stares at it. 

He knows he should just walk out and not take another sip. His own Avengers are waiting for him.

He’s changed. He doesn’t need the crutch. He has a phone now, hidden in a drawer, that does the job.

The warmth left behind by Steve’s fingers is an unwanted reminder that he’s sitting here alone. Tomorrow, he can be Iron Man again. He stares at the bourbon. Tonight, he’s just Tony. He wishes he could be better.

But, then he wouldn’t be sitting here.

This time the glass is warm against his fingers and Tony ponders how his life has become an ever spreading web of responsibilities and terrible choices he’s caught in - as if he doesn’t know. He knows exactly how it happened, and most nights that isn’t a comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr ](http://navaan.tumblr.com/). This fic has a post [on there](http://navaan.tumblr.com/post/158589559819/fic-mcu-run-away-with-me-the-things-we-dont) in case you want to comment/review/reblog there. [My ask box](http://navaan.tumblr.com/ask) is open if you have questions.


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